


Bare Heart

by QDS



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dubious Consent, F/M, Nipple Play, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QDS/pseuds/QDS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sansa's plea to the new king, Lord Baelish offers Sansa the chance to pour her heart out to him – perhaps though not in the way she first expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bare Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2011-12 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Prompt: nippleplay/tit torture. Spoilers up to and including episode eight.

Raised voices outside her door made Sansa looked up from her needlework. The careful act of stitching, of pushing threaded needle through the material, was a comfort, for it was familiar, and a task she was always good at. What was strange now was doing it alone. She was used to the company of other women, of Arya's scowling through the task and her tatty threads, of Septa Mordane guiding Sansa through the stitching, sitting next to her.

Sansa had shed no tears for all that had happened; her heart was too numb, too much in shock, and her mind utterly focused on saving her father. There was little time to feel sadness, nor did she want to let it overcome her.

Yet she was very alone in her room. The windows had been barred shut to prevent her from escaping, though she could never imagine herself scaling a wall, let alone leaping from a great height, nothing to break her fall but the sea and the rocks. Even with her things about her, the room was hollow. Her movement about the palace had been restricted; she had two guards at a strange behest, being able to ask them to accompany her without question, but only to limited places, and she was strictly forbidden to go anywhere else but her room after sundown.

Sansa was sure it was Jorin's voice she now heard, stern and abrupt. The words she couldn't make out, but she found herself rising in her chair to the softer, smoother voice that responded.

The door flung open, and gruff Jorin stomped inside. "Lord Baelish to see you, if you will."

Sansa put the needlework down, and nodded, trying to keep the relief and joy from her face. "Please, show him in."

Lord Baelish entered with a soft step. He wore plain clothes, subtle as the shadows. His expression was unreadable, and very hard. Sansa bit her lip. He'd had been kind to her in the Queen's chambers, but perhaps he too had turned against her? It was only Lord Varys who had spoken for her in court earlier that day.

Still, a lady must remain so, even in times such as this.

"Lord Baelish." She curtsied.

"I trust I am not disturbing you, Sansa?" His tone was formal.

"No, my Lord."

"May I speak with you? In private?"

Sansa blinked. His voice betrayed nothing, but there was a glint in his eyes that were imploring, not commanding.

So she nodded. "Yes. Of course."

Lord Baelish turned and nodded to Jorin, a cutting smile on his lips. Sansa forced herself to look demure rather than smug as Jorin grumbled under his breath but left the room and closed the door. When he looked back at Sansa, his face was much gentler.

"They do seem an unnecessary measure, for an innocent."

Her heart gave a little beat. Prin--King Joffrey had had to be stern, she knew that, but she so longed for something other than suspicious looks from everyone else at court.

"Please, my Lord, sit."

He settled on the chair opposite hers at the table. Sansa began to push her needlework further aside when Lord Baelish held out his hand to her.

"Do you mind if I looked at your work?"

She passed it to him. He held it before him as if he were examining items to buy in a shop, and was inspecting for flaws. Undoubtedly he would find plenty, for without Septa's hand to guide her, Sansa had been forced to figure out knots and missed stitches with her own intuition, and the design itself was becoming quite different, no doubt, from what Septa intended.

"You have a talent." Lord Baelish passed it back to her. "No doubt you need some kind of distraction at this time."

"It helps," she said, folding her hands in her lap, clutching at the frame of the needlework.

He gave a gentle smile. "I'm glad."

So was she, for his kindness.

"Lord Baelish...I think you did not come to speak about my needlework."

"No. I did not." Lord Baelish leaned closer to her, hands clasped, his eyes...what colour where they? On first meeting she was sure that they had been cold blue. Now, in the candle light, they seemed gray, a calm sky over Winterfell.

After a long pause, he said, "That was a very brave thing you did today."

Her heart fluttered, and for the first time since it had all gone wrong, tears threatened to spill over her eyes. But Sansa kept herself, and said, "It was the only thing I could think of to save my father."

Lord Baelish gave her a sorry look. "You spoke well, but your father is an honourable man, and I fear that his dignity and pride may not lead to the outcome – "

"My Lord! Please!"

Her words came out sharp, and Sansa clamped her hand over her mouth. Lord Baelish jerked his head back a fraction. Oh how could she be so stupid, to speak like that to one of the King's Council!

Sansa shook her head. "My Lord Baelish...you have been one of the few who...oh my Lord, forgive my outburst!"

"Shh, shh...nothing to forgive." Lord Baelish's voice soften again. Sansa clutched her needlework to her.

He continued. "I was simply...but no. It is not necessary for me to state the facts when you are aware of what is believed, compared to what you believe – what you _know_ – to be true."

"Th...thank you, my Lord."

"I will confess, Sansa, that it may cost me much if anyone finds out I have come here. But I felt it important, my connection to your family, to your mother..."

Lord Baelish pressed his lips together, and looked away, fingers under his chin. He looked unsure, as if he were searching for the next words, or trying to avoid the more accurate ones in favour of a less direct phrase. Sansa straightened up, determined this time not to snap at him.

"Please, my Lord, I will listen to what you have to say."

He glanced back at her, fingers to his mouth, and he looked a little shy. "To be very truthful...I thought you needed a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. I can't promise I will be able to see you often, for you must see my position is a delicate one, but...would you let me play that role? Be someone you can take comfort in."

His words were so sincere, so heartfelt, that everything Sansa had been feeling welled in her eyes and came spilling down her cheeks. Lord Baelish opened his arms, not stretching towards her, but inviting her to him. Sansa dropped the needlework, and threw herself into Lord Baelish's arms.

Lord Baelish held her with a strong grip, and ran his hand down her back, murmuring sounds that had no meaning but were gentle on her ears. He rocked her a little. Cradled on his lap, her tears burst from her and she knew they were dampening his collar, but Lord Baelish seemed to pay no heed, only continued to murmur. She cried and cried, each sob bring more gentle strokes to her back.

When her sobs began to subside, Sansa could feel the side of Lord Baelish's face against her chest, slow lifting with each breath. The presence of a warmth near her heart was more than comforting. The tip of his nose brushed past the skin just above her bodice. That sheer instance of his skin on hers made her chest flutter, the comfort now a beautiful sensation.

She pulled back, her position on his lap allowing her to look down at his face. He had always seemed so smug and clever, but now all she saw was kindness. Sansa pressed a kiss to his forehead, the only way she could think to show her gratitude in ways that were not words. Lord Baelish exhaled, and his cheek fell against her chest, where her skin was exposed. Apart from the brush of his beard, his cheek was smooth.

Lord Baelish said in a low voice, "You are very soft, Sansa."

Sansa stared down at Lord Baelish's features. He ran his tongue over his upper lip, and his hooded eyes had a hunger in them. Each breath he made became more ragged. His gaze reached up to hers, and he smiled, a little sadly.

She knew then what he wanted, what he wished to ask, but would not.

Her brothers had talked of the sight of a woman's bare breasts, of the look of softness and their desire to touch them. It was a strange thought to Sansa, who only thought of the comfort of her mother's embrace, with little regard for her own bossom. Yet she saw hers were round and full, and Lord Baelish looking on them now...she could not understand it, but there was a deep sense in her stomach of what it meant to a man.

He has risked so much to come here...Sansa thought. She did not know precisely what he desired, but she thought too of his skin against hers, and her hands reached to ties at her dress. As the sides of her dress parted, revealing her breasts, all of Sansa's spine and ribs tingled with a tension that both scared and excited her.

Lord Baelish's eyes grew wide, locked on her bare breasts. He looked up at her again.

"Sansa..."

She couldn't speak; her throat was tight. So she nodded. Lord Baelish's looked so grateful that when one hand left her back and gently cupped her right breast, it was almost a reverence.

Lord Baelish squeezed. Sansa pressed her lips together. Under his hand, she became very aware of house soft her breast was, how tender. He brushed a firm thumb over her nipple, and to her shock, she felt the spot between her legs flush with warmth.

Lord Baelish met her eyes again, and once more flicked his thumb over her now hardening nipple. Sansa twitched. It had only ever done that in the cold of summer snows, but this sensation was so different. It stirred right through her body, and she squirmed on his lap.

Lord Baelish's hand splayed on her back, keeping her steady. He rubbed his thumb around the darken softness that surrounded the little teet. Sansa found her breath beginning to hitch, and she wanted him to touch the nub itself again, but she couldn't speak the words. Her eyes were transfixed on the rolling of his thumb, so much so that when Lord Baelish ducked his head and kissed her left breast, she gasped.

His mouth became entirely occupied with her breast. He kissed it all over, his moustach and beard brushing and tickling a little. Sometimes she giggled, but then he'd nip at it, which made her shudder and sigh all over again.

Then his lips fell onto the teet itself, and his teeth sank down. Sansa wanted to cry out loudly, but she put a hand to her mouth. The guards were still on the other side of the door.

Lord Baelish nuzzled there, as if he were chewing on a particularly delicious piece of fruit. Sansa now understood why her brothers had alluded to such things in those terms. Yet no one had told her she too might delight in the touch.

With his teeth, Lord Baelish pulled at her nipple. It was like being cut, only as sharp as it was, her chest flushed with pleasureable heat. Lord Baelish drew his head back, stretching it. Sansa moaned. The place between her legs almost throbbed, and she now felt a delicious wetness there too.

He ceased his attentions of her left breast, and turned to her right. It was a cursed relief, the loss of his mouth, and terrible anticipation of his next move. His tongue began lave on the underside of her breast, a wet yet feathery gesture. She wanted him so badly to bite down again, to try and devour her nipple. But all she breathed out was, “My lord...”

Lord Baelish gazed up at her with wet eyes. "Does this comfort you, Sansa?"

"Yes..."

He kissed the nipple whole. She bit her lip, and urged forward, just a little, her breast pointed right at his mouth. Lord Baelish smiled, pleased, like a cat with cream, but Sansa did not care – all she wanted was his mouth once again on her breast.

He said in whisper, and sound that echoed in her belly, "What do you want, my dear?"

With his thumb and forefinger, he pinched the teet, and began to roll it around. Sansa's whole body trembled, and he held her steady on his lap.

He squeezed harder. "That, Sansa?"

She threw her head back. "Yes...yes...your...teeth...Lord Baelish."

"Of course."

And he obliged her. The sweet sharpness made her hand fly to her mouth. Sansa bit against the heel of her palm, muffling the cry that came.

Lord Baelish continued to tend to her breasts for sometime. Each touch and lick and bite brought a tremulous delight to her, but all too soon they felt a little sore. When she told him this, Lord Baelish nodded, and soothed them with soft touches, before brushing some stray hair from her face.

"How are you feeling now, Sansa?"

For some reason, Sansa giggled. "I feel...very well, Lord Baelish."

"I'm so glad to hear it. Are you comfortable as you are?"

"I am."

"Perhaps you'll take up your needlework again, here on my lap?"

Sansa smiled. She slid off his thighs for a moment, picked up her needlework, and sat back down. Lord Baelish put his arms around her waist, and allowed her to lean back against him. His forehead fell lightly against her chin. From there, with his occasional comforting strokes down her back or across her thighs, Sansa sat and stitched with a contentment she'd not felt for a long time.

*

"Lord Baelish."

Petyr looked up from his work, eyes askance at Varys. The Spider's plump features were bemused. A dangerous sign.

"One of my birds tells me that you've visited a certain...captive bird, shall we say."

Petyr kept his face blank as he put his quill down. "You're little birds tell you many things, Lord Varys. Are you sure all of them are true?"

Varys made his familiar expression that tried to say 'I only know what I am told.' Why he bothered doing so with Petyr was a mysterious – both men knew exactly what the other one was.

"Perhaps this one is not. After all, you wouldn't want your loyalty to our new King put to question before the whole court and council, would you?"

Petyr shrugged. "I don't see how my offering Sansa Stark some words of comfort and advice about the coming days questions my own loyalty. If the Queen or the King were to ask, well...I would simple say she is – "

"The daughter of an old, dear friend," Varys finished. "Of course. And...yes, it might be conjectured that after all you bare no love to the Starks themselves, but a Tully..."

Varys let the implications hang. Petyr raised an eyebrow.

"I suspect that his Grace will be more interested to hear of your visits to the somewhat darker parts of the Red Keep, Lord Varys. Or do you think he'll be generous and understanding with your reasons for doing so?"

It was rare to get a reaction out of Varys. The eunch scowled, and left Petyr's chamber.

Petyr cursed the Spider once he was well out of earshot. It was, he had to admit, perhaps not the wisest of decisions he'd made, visiting Sansa like that. At least though he and Varys held each other by their, figurative in any case, balls. But the memory of her begging voice, the softness of her delightful tits in his mouth...that was delicious. If only he had better access to Ned Stark, something to further taunt him with before he marched to his death. For Petyr knew that either way Stark made his move, Joffrey's idea of mercy was...well. Not unlike Petyr's.

Petyr's cock twitched against his leg, and he imagined with a delicious clarity what other comforts he may have to offer Sansa.

–  
End


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